


Black Light

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot, batman!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 18:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20916587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: District Attorney Armitage Hux is visited in the small hours of the morning by the infamous vigilante Kylo Ren.They have many things to discuss.





	Black Light

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream the other night that I was playing a PS4 Batman game, but Bruce Wayne was a hell of a lot more like Ben Organa Solo. And there was a hell of a lot more mortal violence, besides. I haven't been able to write much of substance for the last year, but I gave this a whirl as a twitfic, and...well, here we are.
> 
> Back to that comic AU now, I guess.

Hux doesn't hear him come in. That in itself is no surprise; this man has forged his dark legend on the ability to come and go under the cloaking silence of nightfall. It simply surprises Hux that he would want to begin this asinine game of his again. It's been months since their last encounter. And Hux hasn't missed any of it. At all.

Keeping his eyes firmly upon the screen before him, Hux pushes his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose with an impatient finger. "I do hope you didn't do any permanent harm to the security staff," he says with cool disdain, fingers working quick over the keyboard. "They're not easily replaced, given what’s been happening all over the city lately.”

Kylo Ren materialises from the shadows that Hux kindly created by leaving all the lights turned off, save for the one upon his desk. Even as the dark-clad man looms before him like death made flesh, Hux ignores the theatrics and instead clicks his tongue, switching back to another document.

"They're hardly worth what you pay them," Ren says at last, voice low distorted rumble from the vocoder embedded in his ridiculous mask. "They put up nearly no fight at all."

Now Hux does react, leaning back in his chair with a groan. This doesn't mean he looks directly at his unwelcome visitor; he far prefers to leave him only as a shadow in his peripheral vision. It’s what he deserves.

"You do realise that I don't hire them specifically to keep you out of my office after hours?" he asks, though the words are directed more to the ceiling than Ren himself. Removing the glasses now, he scrubs his forearm over his aching eyes, careless of the fine fabric of his dress shirt. "What is it that you want, Ren? As you can see, I've not got any petty criminals stowed away here for you to string up. Just underpaid security staff, doing their best to serve the local government and her people."

"They don't care about you." The truth of it stings, for Hux has always known it. "They only come for the money, little as the pitiful amount they’re paid is worth."

"We all need money, Ren." But he tilts his head now, unblinking as he looks upon the hulking masked figure across his desk. "Though I suppose perhaps _you_ don't. What is it that sustains you, then? Blood? Gore?” He purses his lips, tongue playing light alone the line of his teeth. “Perhaps just the simple taste of screaming miserable death..?"

"They all beg for their lives in the end.” It’s said flat, emotionless, the visor slit of his mask the pitiless gaze of an uncaring God. "Every single one of them."

"Well, if you're planning to murder me tonight, Ren, I suggest you don’t bother. The only thing I plan on begging for tonight is a double shot of halfway decent whiskey, and then a quick cigarette to follow." Now he arches an eyebrow. "That's your cue to leave, by the by."

Of course, he doesn't. Hux had expected no less. "The election draws close,” Ren says, somehow light even though the vocoder ought to drag the words down into the hell that vomited up the man in the first place. But Hux can’t deny the truth of said words.

"It does. He speaks with easy calm, utterly at odds with the twist of furious uncertainty low in his gut. "But I will be District Attorney, again."

"Will you." Hux never would have thought he would be able to describe that modulated mess of a voice as playful, and yet – here they are. "You're not as popular as you once were, Hux."

The sound of his name, bastardised in that ridiculous posturing tone: it curls his lip, as well as his stomach. "Perhaps if you are so concerned about my chances of re-election, Ren, you ought to refrain from brutally executing my suspects before I even have them arrested."

That strange amusement persists, deep as his shrouding shadows. "You were too slow, Attorney," he says. “Besides, I did only what needed to be done.” There’s a finality to that statement which brooks no argument, though Hux’s mind already turns the ramifications of it over and over. He’s wondered for some time now, at a possible connection between the now-dead Snoke and Kylo Ren. There hasn’t been anything concrete, though he’s never expected to find solid evidence. It's only a gut feeling – a gut feeling that that crooked old bastard would have been sadistic enough to be responsible for Kylo Ren: for the genesis of a vicious vigilante haunting the city Hux himself is engaged to serve and protect.

"As it so happens, I play by the rules.” Hux gives the answer light as ice; in return the vocoder provides a distorted bark of sound. Perhaps it could be called laughter, though Hux doesn’t entirely believe that this creature has felt true emotion in a large number of years.

Still, Ren persists. "So you admit that this is all just a game, to you?"

Hux has never done a thing in his life without knowing the strategy behind it. He plays his cards to his chest, and knows the true power of patience. "I never aim to lose, if that's what you mean."

"Ah, but you just might this time." He comes close – too close, separated from him only by the vastness of his desk. Hux meets the motionless eye slit with rolled eyes of his own.

"We live in different worlds," he begins, but Ren waves away the rhetoric, as he so often has in the past. If Hux had ever thought there was any value in slapping him, he would have done so long ago. But the mask is there between them, as it ever has been, and he has no expectation of change.

"You lost Snoke.” The satisfaction purrs seems not only to purr from the mouthpiece, but to ooze from the great mass of muscle, too. "And then there was that little public defender of yours – and didn’t _that_ little sham endear you so to the city at large?" His scorn shimmers like a freshly unsheathed blade. “Quite the way to make yourself relatable to the unwashed masses.”

Stock still, now, Hux is as a cold glacier in its patiently carved valley. "I won't talk about Dameron to you."

"Dameron," he repeats; Hux hates the sound of it rolling around in the affectation of that stupid mask. "Can't even use his first name?" Now Ren does laugh, a harsh and hissing sound that makes flinch. "But then, he probably never made you scream the way I do."

"Oh, so _that's_ what this is about.” Both irritation and a firm sense of satisfaction shift through his body now; foolish as the feeling is, Hux can’t help but take pleasure in this knowledge. "It's out of the question."

"Didn't I just say you lost your lovely little attorney friend?"

Hux doesn't doubt that has nothing to do with the unspoken proposition; he's fairly certain Ren has no care for basic social mores. Adultery doesn’t appear amongst the crimes he has punished with his fists and with his swords. With that much said, Hux supposes he's no better himself; Ren is only asking for something Hux has willingly enough given before.

"Absolutely not." Leaning back in the chair, Hux crosses one long leg over the other; the motion comes deliberate, slow. Though the mask hides much, Hux knows perfectly well that Ren particularly enjoys both his thighs, and his unexpectedly round little ass.

"Don't you want to say goodbye?" Ren says now, lightly mocking; Hux can still see that the visor is fixed gratifyingly upon his lower half. "You won't be in this office for much longer, and after that? I'll have no use for you."

"I will be here as long as I wish to be." Hux truly does believe it. He _must_. "My work is not yet done here."

"But it is." Ren comes closer – and Hux can only describe the motion as a _slide_, feet barely seeming to touch the floor. There are rumours, of course, that this dark knight is hardly human. Hux does not believe that in the slightest, and not just because he's had a decidedly human cock up his ass. But Ren knows the power of theatrics, and he's an impressive specimen of peak physicality. Hux might even envy him that body, if Ren didn’t bury it beneath the layers of clothing that display his madness to the world at large.

Because he _is_ mad. Hux can recognise it easily enough in others, perhaps because he knows the slippage of his own sanity well enough. And he never has doubted how close to the edge he himself skates. Not when he now has one hand rising to his throat, lightly playing with the careful knot of his silk tie.

"All right, then," he says, abrupt. "Let's have another little fuck, you and I. For old times sake."

Again, that little distorted sound that could have been a snort, could have been laughter. "Still the little slut you always were, then?"

"Don't pretend you don't want it." He flicks his fingers, loosening said knot; the visor shifts to the play of his quick sure hands, and Hux smirks freely.

"How about something a little different tonight?" he asks, voice pitched low, sultry and soft. It forces Ren to come a little closer, attention turned upon where he has begun to flip free the pearled buttons of his shirt.

"Different?" Ren rumbles, and Hux's smirk turns like a shadow across the moon.

"Do me raw." Pausing in his work, Hux fixes an unblinking gaze upon the visor, teases his upper lip with first tongue, then teeth. "Let me feel you. Just this once."

And that _is_ laughter, resounding around the helmet like a storm trapped in a mason jar. "Oh, Hux," he says, almost breathless, almost _fond_. "How much of a fool do you take me for?"

He raises one shoulder in careless shrug; his shirt follows it back down, revealing the line of one bare arm. "If you're so very concerned, Ren, that I will keep your come up my ass and use it for DNA testing, you could just do some work and clean me out before you leave."

Ren remains silent at that, and Hux shimmies from the shirt entirely, leaving him in only the silken undershirt, and the heavy gunmetal chain worn always around his neck. The tags hanging at its end click gently together as he stretches, hands falling to his belt.

"You're no fun, Ren," he says, very light. "You know that one day I'll find out who you really are."

"So what are you planning to do? Get fucked by every man in this city until you find the cock that fits?"

The undercurrent of jealousy isn’t imagined; no wonder he’d been the one to bring up Poe. “Just call it the glass slipper of our generation, I suppose," he says lazily, lifting his hips to push his trousers down. "But I'll take that as a hint that you do spend all your time here, within the city limits."

The answer comes petulant. "Why else would I care?"

They all wonder that – wonder what drives this lunatic, what awakens the fierce passion one must surely need to in order to dress in costume and go out every night. What absurd logic spurs him to bring down the city's abysmal crime rate by simply committing more and more of his own.

"You're a sadistic bastard," Hux says, honest. "You enjoy cruelty. You thrive on it." He reaches forward, slips first one shoe off, then the other. Socks follow, and then he stands, lets the trousers fall from his hips.

Ren's visor is fixed on him alone. "So why let me do this, to you?"

"Because I enjoy it just as much as you do." It's all too easy to discard undershirt, underwear. "So come on and do it, then."

Nudity has rarely equalled vulnerability, to Hux. Perhaps when he'd been younger it had been more of a concern. But here, and now: it has a power all its own, one that invites upon him the laser-focused attention of the maddest man of this madder city. It’s difficult not to preen. Instead Hux tilts first his chin, then a hip; one hand rests upon his waist, clear and present invitation.

Ren doesn't move closer. It’s a disappointment; Hux had had several ideas for his desk and how he might be fucked over it. The memories already forged there still heat his skin and his loins even now. But it doesn't matter in the end, for Ren moves to the low couch along one wall, upholstered in light blue damask. There he takes his place, as casual as a king upon his throne: arms stretched open and along its back, legs spread wide. Perhaps he is not so much a king as a conquering warlord, come to accept the tribute he had demanded with blade and blood.

But Hux is no wilting ambassador, come to surrender wealth and influence to preserve his own hide. With an easy sway of hips, he crosses the floor on the silent pad of bare feet. He stops only when he reaches near the apex of Ren's thighs, lips in low smirk. Saying nothing now as he presses his knees down upon the couch, his hands move forward to first rest upon, then tightly grip Ren's shoulders. There he rises up, knees pressing just a little – just enough – at the man's still-clothed crotch. Ren's gaze must track upward in order to stay with him. An oddly tender smile crosses his face as he leans down, lips close to the place where his ear must be, under the childish mask he chooses always to wear.

"Was it quick?" he whispers. "When he died."

Ren's great body might as well be carved from granite. Hux sighs, sways a little closer. "It was such a mess," he says, thoughtful; he allows his hands to let go, forearms sliding over those broad shoulders until the dog tags hung about his throat lightly clink against the silvered detailing of the mask.

"There were those who said it would have been quick. That no one could be bisected in that manner and retain any useful consciousness for any time afterward." With another sigh, Hux bows his head, lips grazing over cold hard polymer. "But I know he suffered. I know what you wanted."

Gloved hands come rough about his waist, thrusting him back. Hux chuckles to feel it; there will be bruises there, tomorrow. And he'll travel his fingers over every single one of them tomorrow as he lies in the sunlight upon his own bed, other hand firm around his dick.

"I care only about what I want now," he rasps; his anger comes both bright and delicious. Hux intends to feed upon it to absolute satiety.

One hand rises again, traces a light mockery over the pitted lines of dulled silver around the unseen eyes below. And then Hux is shifting backward, pulling free, though he goes not far. He rises but momentarily, turning to present his backside. Allowing no time for proper inspection, Hux instead straddles one great thigh, takes a seat upon it with easy prim grace.

The look he casts back over his shoulder could be called anything but coy. "What about what I want?" Leaning forward, palms moving to cup then brace himself upon one knee, he sighs at the burst of fresh sensation. "And if I want it now...?"

Ren jerks his thigh up – not high, and not entirely hard. It's still a solid jolt, enough to have Hux rocking, shifting himself along that wide expanse of hard tense muscle. It’s worth the risk, even if it’s nothing like his usual tastes.

For all his chill exterior might suggest otherwise, Hux does regret the sudden sharp dissolution of his relationship with Poe Dameron. They'd been called the oddest of couples, but Hux's cynicism had rubbed up against Poe's incessant chivalry in a manner altogether too pleasant. It had been only natural, that they would experiment further with such fascinating friction. They themselves had been the ones most surprised by their eventual tumble into bed.

Hux had found great pleasure in Poe's hard compact body, and in the way the man knew all too well how to use it. But he cannot deny that he has missed _this_: the absolute breadth and depth of this man, all broad hulking muscle. Poe could lift him, with some difficulty; Hux knows for a fact that Kylo Ren can hold his entire weight _and_ fuck up into him until he sobs for release.

Back upon the beast himself, Hux presses his head back, hips moving in gentle sway even as his dick grows hard enough to press up against his abdomen. It's not really the motion itself at the heart of his arousal, pleasant though it is. He prefers to think of how he must look to Ren: even in the low light, his skin will be stretched pale canvas, so unspoiled against the dark ruin of his own swaddling clothes. And the cheeks of his ass will be ever so slightly parted where Hux presses his weight down, taint moving over rough fabric, balls rolling in gentle back and forth—

One hand comes about his waist, the other his throat. They both drag Hux back before he can catch a breath, let alone say a word. Pressed all along the length of his spine is that hard fierce body, coiled strength tense against his skin.

Gloved fingers skitter now over his belly, though the other hand stays heavy upon his throat. "Let’s hear you scream, then," Ren rasps, and takes Hux’s dick in hand. Luxuriating in the strong knowing grip, Hux lets a chuckle escape. Rumours say Kylo Ren can read minds; only at these moments is Hux willing to give that particular idiocy any credence, because Ren reads at least his body like an open book. Hux is no stranger to dark pleasure – after a darker childhood, he had vowed to find himself better – but Ren goes deeper still. He never should have let this happen again.

But he is here, now, spread over Ren’s knee with a hand about his throat. It's not quite hard enough to cut off his breath, though it still hitches in a manner that ought to be alarming. Still he grows harder by the moment and he can't deny it. He doesn't even want to. His world has narrowed down to his pleasure and this man, and Hux always gets what he wants.

Except, perhaps, for one thing. Ren has strong skilled hands. That is not in doubt. The sword he wields as an executioner's blade alone would say as much, though Hux is far more personally familiar with what it can do to his cock. But something in him yearns for what Ren will never give him. Ren will never suck his dick.

It's not as if Hux expects it. The man remains fully clothed during every encounter; even his dick, when out, is fully sheathed with a condom. Part of the excitement of it comes down entirely to that: being fucked by a modern outlaw in full getup, while he himself is stark naked in his own office. But for all Ren might be so certain of his high position over Poe, at least Poe had given Hux the sensation of skin on skin.

With a hitching sigh, Hux rolls his hips, feels the hard line of Ren's monstrous dick pressing up against his ass. The demand of it matches perfectly its fool master. "Perhaps I should get you ready," he murmurs, "get you properly wet and hard before you go slicking up my hole."

The answer is a burst of static, something that might has been fierce growl from something more human. Ren shoves him up, pivots him upon his lap; Hux hadn't thought to get harder, but then he should have known such manhandling could have only one ending.

"You want it, then?" The teasing tone leaves him all in a gasp; Ren has yanked him forward again, leaning back himself. The motion leaves him reclining backward atop Ren, though one arm snakes tight around his chest, binding them close as one gloved finger presses now at the soft tight furl of muscle between his cheeks.

Not bothering to hide the full body shudder that rocks through him, Hux presses his face to the awkward space between the jaw of the helmet and one thick shoulder. It smells faintly of smoke, more strongly of blood. "Let me," he whispers, then throws his head back as Ren begins a light pulsing stroke over his asshole. "Ren, let me do it. Let me taste you."

A thumb, now – and it breaches him so briefly that Hux can't bite back a strangled gasp. Then the fingers return, like a master tending his pet. "Still playing your games, attorney," he murmurs. "What will you do? Swallow my come, then go vomit it up for some poor innocent lab technician to test?”

Moving his body in sinuous stretch, Hux lets out a disapproving hiss. "How dare you suggest I'd do such an idiot thing," he says, and closes his hands tight around strong hips. "The stomach acid would denature any DNA long before it could be amplified."

Ren snorts, and without preamble shoves one finger in to the hilt. "How fortunate for us both, then, that you are not an idiot."

"No," he agrees, light as ice. "No, Ren, I'm rather afraid that I'm not."

Ren seems to make a faint humming noise, and withdraws his hand. Hux moves to protest, but within a moment said hand is returned, and the two fingers working into his ass are slick, now. And so very, very thick.

For now, Hux has no immediate complaint. Instead he squirms just a little, feels the hard line of Ren's own cock, hot even with the layers between them. With Ren's tight grasp around him, his arms are half-pinned; he still has just enough leverage to shift a hand, to trace its length with one finger. He's always been the industrious sort.

Beneath him, Ren makes a sound close to laughter; the crook of those two fingers in his ass brings forth a gasp from Hux himself. "Do you never concern yourself with what the city would think?" The gloved fingers work deeper; even with the lube, the leather has a bite to it, a low drag over skin. "What would they say," Ren muses on, "to see their district attorney like this? Splayed out over his sworn nemesis, buck naked with these filthy fingers up his ass?"

"First of all, I've never declared you my sworn anything," Hux says, somehow prissy even as he rakes the nail of his middle finger down the clothed cock. Ren grunts, twitches his own in turn; Hux narrowly avoids biting his tongue. "Secondly," he adds, half-breathless, "no one would believe you."

"And if I recorded it?" If not for the vocoder, his voice might even had sounded like silk. "If I had come in here earlier, placed my cameras while you were away? What would they say? The city?" He's smirking now, and Hux doesn't need to remove the mask to know it. "...your precious Poe?"

Hux ceases his slow rock, lips down turned. "Dameron and I are dust and done," he says, very cold. "And you of all people know the ease of image manipulation. Anyone can make a reality of anything they want, have they the time and motivation."

Ren takes umbrage at his tone, because he twists his wrist and – Hux gasps loud, vision gone white, entire body taut as a stretched bow. He's allowed Ren entirely too much access to his body, because Ren knows him entirely too well. And even as he's attempting to locate his equilibrium from that unexpected press against his prostate, Ren shifts them both bodily upward, seating himself again on the couch and shoving Hux up against its back.

With his ass on the top of the couch, spine arched against the wall above, Hux spreads his legs without thought. Ren wouldn't have allowed otherwise, anyway. One hand closes again about his dick, the other now three fingers deep in his ass. The mask presses hard and cool against his thigh as Ren works him hard, Hux's sense of reality caught and shredded between the arousal of his dick, and the approaching orgasm centered in his ass. He comes without thought, hips bucking, throat raw; it's a long moment for him to come down, and even when he does, the sight of his own come dripping over the black and silver of Ren's mask is enough to spark it anew.

But that doesn't matter now. Ren withdraws, rising to his full height, hand moving to his flies.  
"My turn."

In the dim light, with Ren as always half-wrought of shadow, there's only so much Hux can see. It could never be enough, besides. But as Hux sinks down onto the couch, boneless and slow, he catches a glimpse of the hard bare cock in Ren's hand – and even his great palm can't make it look small.

He can't help the faint noise of protest he makes as he shifts his hips, though no one would be able to mistake the way he actually cants them closer to Ren. The dark knight himself has busied himself with a condom taken from God alone knows where, smoothing it over the length, jerking it once, twice, three times. Hux luxuriates back on the couch, pillow prince awaiting his tribute.

But Ren does not immediately come down to him. For a long moment, he is utterly still – and it ought to be nothing but ridiculous, a grown man in an overwrought Halloween costume, hard wrapped dick poking out between the panels of his tunic. It deserves laughter, if nothing else.

But Hux remains silent, sprawled open in satiation. It's Ren who chuckles, shaking his head.

"I should take you up against your pretty picture window." Hux jerks as if grazed by lightning bolt, even as Ren adds, "perhaps someone else might catch you on that camera we spoke of."

"No." Even in his post coital haze, Hux sits up strong, jaw set and eyes cold. "It's on the couch, or nowhere else."

Ren actually snorts at that – but he says no more, crossing the space between them with a speed utterly at odds with his massive frame. Then he is upon Hux, crushing him back against the damp fabric, thrusting his dick in even before either of them gains any purchase.

It doesn't really matter; Ren doesn't stay still, and much as Hux immediately misses that weight pressed over every inch of his own slender form, he does appreciate also the ability to breathe again. Ren still knocks said breath out of him a moment later, sitting Hux upon his lap and thrusting up into him, even as he yanks Hux right back down.

Having come himself so recently, the pleasure in this walks a fine line, one far closer to pain. But as he settles his hands on those shoulders once more, Hux smirks down at him. There is power in this, and not all of it belongs to Kylo Ren.

An unbecoming shriek escapes him later, as a thrust becomes a surge, Ren rising like stormwave from the couch. With nowhere else to go but the floor, Hux must wrap both legs and arms around that massive frame, holding on for dear life as it barrels across the room.

"No," he says, realisation bright as thermonuclear detonation. "Ren, I said NO!"

The window shakes as his back is thrust up against it, though it holds true enough. Then Ren is forcing up into him again, though in truth his dick had never left his ass once in their wild flight across Hux's office. "Let me down!" he says, hearing the rising pitch in his voice and hating it. "Let me down, you stupid crazy bastard—"

One hand clamps down hard over his mouth, encompassing nearly the entirety of Hux's lower face; still he glares like death as Ren continues to grunt his way towards rapidly approaching climax.

"As I remember it," he gasps, voice distorted by effort as much as the mask, "the only bastard between the two of us here is you."

Glorious, electrifying fury fills him like priming charge. Before Hux can bite down, Ren withdraws his hand. "I'll fucking kill you with my bare hands," Hux hisses -- and Kylo comes, body rising and stiffening, like some great mystical creature in the throes of transformation.

This is his time, and Hux knows it. He's slipping down the window, Ren's dick slipping from his ass, and there's a knife in his desk—

Ren catches him almost too easily, wrists in his hands, forcing him back against the window. Though hardly helpless – Hux would not have survived his childhood had he not learned to fight dirty – Ren overwhelms. It is his way. "I have something for you," he says, almost conversational despite the blatant absurdity of the situation. Even as Hux only snarls in reply, Ren laughs. "I'm going to let you go, now. But you won't kill me."

"But I will."

"No," he says. "No, you won't – because now I'm going to suck your cock."

Very still, now, Hux can only stare at the mask, still sticky with his own come. Every inch of him screams no – except, of course, for his traitorous dick, which already twitches in renewed interest.

"You have to promise not to stop." Every word burns the rawness of his throat, even as Ren faintly chuckles. The fingers about his wrists briefly tighten, then relax.

"And you would accept the promise of an outlaw, Attorney?”

Hux blinks, lets a lazy smile creep easy across his features. "When I see it spoken from your lips, perhaps so."

"Ah, but it won't be seen," Ren says, strangely gentle. "I'll need to blindfold you. Bind you, even."

"_Bind_ me." Very, very still now, Hux grimaces. "No. You can get out, if that's your plan."

Ren, naturally, does not get out. Instead he lingers, hands light manacles over Hux's wrists, pressing them still above his head against the glass. The ache in his shoulders grows deeper with each moment, and he's contemplating bringing up a knee into Ren's groin when he sighs in a burst of sharp static.

"A blindfold, then." The mask hangs unmoving before him, like a Noh mask hung upon blank empty stage. "That is the only deal on offer."

And he'd be a fool to take it. Still Hux raises an eyebrow, shrugs as much as Ren's grip will allow. "I can live with that."

Yet Ren doesn't just let him go. Before Hux can be completely aware of what is happening, Ren releases his hands, then sweeps him up and over one shoulder. One great gloved hand rests possessive on his ass, which grows hot with sudden shame.

"Ren, you—"

Any other words are lost on the breath that huffs out of him when Ren plops him down upon the couch, graceless and easy. Hux can't even sit up properly before Ren reaches forward, both hands now taken up with a blindfold that appears to have materialised from the ether itself.

"Don't make me bind you," he murmurs. "Because I'll do it. And then maybe I'll leave you that way, for your mousy little secretary to discover in the morning."

Mitaka doesn't deserve that. Not that that is Hux's chief concern right now. Ren moves so quick, so certain; Hux hasn't even reoriented himself on the couch when his vision is taken, and for a moment he digs his fingers deep into the damask, breathes very deep, and very slow. A peculiar hiss, absolutely alien in this familiar place, has his breath stuttering to a stop. There's a faint click of something heavy placed upon his desk, and then, breathed against his thigh:

"I promise not to stop."

The hot, slick mouth swallows him down but a second later. Hux starts with a jagged moan, hips pressing up, pressing deep – entirely without true thought as to consequence. And yet, Ren does not appear to care. Hux's cock slides down his throat as if made to fit there, and Hux can feel the cool press of a nose against the tidy curls at the base of his own cock.

"Oh Christ," he whispers, feels the rumbling murmur of laughter against the head of his cock. Then Ren slips back, lips dragging wet along the entire length of him. Even as Hux's breath quickens, abdomen rising and falling like the skip of a record, Ren presses an oddly chaste kiss to the very tip.

Then he's descending upon him again, tongue and teeth and terrible taunting pleasure. Hux has always known Ren has considerable skill in pleasure; he'd never have let the beast fuck him more than once if he hadn't believed that. But Ren proves a veritable demon with his mouth, licking and nipping and swallowing him whole. Hux cannot even protest when Ren shoves him unceremoniously back, using his legs to drag him forward before bending them up and back; there, Ren descends upon his aching hole, nose pressing hard into his taint even as Hux makes sounds that at charitable best could be called pathetic mewls.

It's when Ren extracts his tongue from his ass and runs it up over his balls and back to his dick that Hux's hands descend upon his head, fist hard in his hair. He hadn't meant to do it. It simply came as naturally as Ren's ridiculous skill at fellatio. And Ren says not a word as Hux slides deep, then back, then begins to fuck the face between his thighs in earnest. Each breath comes to him like a sob, eyes stinging beneath the blindfold, furious at the thought that Kylo Ren has to be on his knees before him with his dick in his mouth and Hux can't see any of it—

He comes with harsh cry, gasping and groaning in a way that could be in no way attractive. But Ren makes no motion to pull back, throat working with relentless thirst as he drinks deep of all that Hux offered. And when Hux falls backward, boneless, he says nothing.

Instead, he leans forward, and presses open lips over Hux's own.

Never one to lie back under true challenge, Hux surges up, drags his hands through thick hair until he again finds rough purchase. He can taste himself upon lips and tongue, and he laughs into this idiot kiss, pressing hard against that hard huge body as it stands, pulls him drunkenly to his feet, and—

Ren shoves him back before he can bite, draw blood. Even as Hux claws at the blindfold, finding the fit too tight and the knot too strong, Ren's voice rumbles across the room, imprisoned behind the vocoder.

"Fight your election, Attorney," he says, "and fight it well. I find I might miss you after all."

By the time Hux fights free of the blindfold, he is gone.

Hux chooses not to think of it, the next day. In many ways that comes simple enough; between the upcoming elections and the day to day running of the office of the district attorney, there is precious little time to dwell upon what happened the night before, even when he sits still in the same room where it happened.

But when the door pushes open to reveal a dark, looming figure in its quaking frame, for a moment his heart skips a beat. It settles but a moment later, expression resolving to cool disdain as recognises this particular intruder. It's hardly an individual with the particular...aura...of Kylo Ren. Ben Organa Solo isn't a small man, perhaps, but he lacks the smooth grace and deadly presence of their shared neighbourhood vigilante.

From behind his reading glasses, Hux blinks slow. Solo continues his blundering way in, Hux's secretary miserable on his Italian leathered heels.

"Mr. Hux, sir, I'm terribly sorry; I told him you take no visitors except but appointment, but Mr. Solo insisted."

"Mitaka." That one crisp word thankfully brought the babbling to swift halt. "I will deal with Mr. Solo."

The relief on Mitaka's face might have been amusing, under other circumstances. Hux instead pays it little heed as Mitaka backs out, banging the door closed just a little too loudly. His attention is instead reserved for Ben Organa Solo alone.

"You have two minutes. One, if you mention your mother."

Solo huffs, pushes a hand back through a ridiculous tumble of untamed black hair. "You wouldn't answer any of my emails," he says in that odd, low voice of his; Hux has rarely heard it in person, only across various news and social media platforms. "I know you've got a reputation as a sarcastic asshole, but you're never _rude_."

"Oh?"

"Except when you're ignoring me, apparently." He's come too close, but Hux reacts not at all as Solo slams his hands on his desk, leans forward. His eyes are oddly large, almost childish; their colour, however, is very nearly black.

"Why won't you take my money?"

"Because I don't want it." Reaching for his tablet, Hux looks deliberately away. "Now, if you'll excuse me--"

"Do you _want_ to lose?"

Though he stills, it's only for the briefest moment. "I don't plan to do any such thing."

"Snoke's dead," Solo says, blunt blade pressed deep. "Never forget that. Sure, you still have _some_ support despite that, but Pryde is breaking that down with every passing day. But with my mon—"

"I don't want your money!" The words are almost shouted, and he doesn't even realise he's shot to his feet, that he's leaned forward until it hits him that he is almost nose to nose with this infuriating spoiled society brat. Yet he doesn't back down – and neither does Solo, his generous cocksucking lips curled into a sneer.

"But you do," he says, very low, deeply fierce. "Because I _know_."

"Know _what_?"

Solo leans back, but it is no retreat. "I know," he says, smirk as crooked as the teeth beneath it. His voice slips down to a whisper, every word a targeted blow. "And I _promise_ not to stop."

Even as Hux turns to ice, Solo flicks a card onto his desk. "My private line," he offers with the affected carelessness only children of the very wealthy can ever hope to wield. "Call me. We have a lot to talk about."

Only when the door closes does Hux start to scream.


End file.
